


Any Other Day

by MissHorrorshow



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissHorrorshow/pseuds/MissHorrorshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayra Mayne dreams of one day being a screenwriter and director. She landed the best job to get a taste of all parts of the film-making process: Production assistant. When she finds out her first gig is "The Avengers", the fun and romance really begins!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Other Day

Zayra parked her car in the backlot like a drunk, closed her purse in the door, opened it again to free it, then snatched up the coffees she was sent to buy from the chi-chi coffee bar down the street and went sprinting across the lot, dodging extras costumed for the number of movies all filming at once there today. Her stick straight, shoulder length, jet black hair swung from side to side as she maneuvered. One moment she was in ancient Rome, then amongst a crowd of partiers from a 1920's speak-easy, then some kind of alien...things. She'd call it a charmed life if she had time.

Connections, it's always connections. Hers was her uncle's best friend who always looked at her funny. Zayra dreamed of writing films, maybe directing someday, so she wanted to immerse herself in the cinematic universe and there's only one job that gets to see a little of everything: production assistant, which is, of course, crude movie slang for "grunt". The title is far more glamorous than the job will ever be. Lately, her duties consisted of fetching caffeine for cast and crew, and the ten coffees she was balancing now were the fruits of run number fifteen, and they hadn't even had a lunch break yet.

She made it to the lot where they were filming some green screen shots for some movie everyone referred to as "Group Hug", but she wasn't ignorant, she'd picked up a comic book or two in her day and she knew it was the Avengers movie Marvel had been hinting at in every fucking movie they ever made, aside from Spiderman, for obvious reasons. The first time she saw the cast getting fitted for their costumes and saw the preliminary sketches when she was delivering the fabric the costume department had ordered, she nearly fainted. Her first gig as a produc...GRUNT, and it was the fucking Avengers. She couldn't tell if she was more excited or paranoid.

Lost in thought, and suffering from constant late nights and next to no sleep, Zayra wasn't paying attention to her journey, but was focused on her destination. She didn't see the man in the stylish leather jacket, black t-shirt and dark wash jeans that wandered into her path.

**CRASH!**

Ten coffees took a tumble and made a mocha Jackson Pollack on the studio floor. In her shock and exhaustion she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Oh my God, I'm so terribly sorry!" the man apologized, horrified.  
"Oh, it's ok. It was bound to happen sometime today. Better now than later." Zayra responded without looking at him, finding a spill clean-up station nearby and attending to the mess.  
The man laughed softly, and helped her, gathering the styrofoam cups and lids and tossing them in a nearby trash can.  
"Thank you, sir. Now, to explain to Joss why his coffee's late. And collect my pink slip." she said, rolling her eyes.  
"Nonsense! It was my fault! Here, here's some money to replace them, and don't worry about Joss. I'll explain it to him."  
Zayra wondered who this guy thought he was that he could explain anything to Joss Whedon, and soon her wide emerald eyes met his for the first time. That smile, those dark curls, she knew precisely who he was. And not one real rock nearby that wasn't made out of foam rubber for her to hide under forever.  
"Uhm, ok, uh...Thanks..."  
"Tom, Tom Hiddleston." he introduced himself, stretching out a hand to her.  
"Zayra. Zayra Mayne." she replied, shaking his hand, trying to be mindful of her grip. Was it a firm grip with your betters, or should she grip loosely or...what exactly is the etiquette in this situation?  
Tom smiled warmly.  
"Relax, sweetie! You're going to have a heart attack! Go get the coffees, take your time. I'm certain they won't hold up production for lack of caffeine. I, on the other hand, am about five minutes late for makeup and they will kill me. They can replace me in every shot with CGI these days so unlike you, my job isn't exactly secure. Sorry again about the collision."  
Zayra laughed more girlish and giggly than she intended, and the flush of her cheeks showed it.  
"Thank you, Mr. Hiddleston..."  
"Please, I'm only in my thirties! Just Tom is fine."  
"Ok, Tom. Thanks, you're my hero."  
"No problem. Maybe I'll see you around later, yeah?"  
"Oh, probably."  
Tom gave her a wave as he jogged to the makeup trailer.

Zayra was in shock all of thirty seconds before urgency shook her back to reality and she sprinted to her car and hurried to replace the coffees.  
As she waited for the barista to prepare her order, she saw a display basket full of decoratively iced sugar cookies with different messages like "Happy birthday!" and "Congratulations!". Hiding in the back was one shaped like a dollar bill, iced with the message "Thanks a million!". She chuckled, and soon the barista was placing a fresh ten cups of coffee on the counter.

"Will that be all, miss?" he asked in a nasal, blatantly annoyed tone.  
"Uhm, one more thing..." she ordered with a wide grin.  
She hurried back to the set, and began feverishly doling out coffee orders. Last one was Joss'. She choked down the lump of terror in her throat and tried to stride coolly to where he sat in his director's chair.

"Sorry it took me so long, Joss. Here you go, nice and hot." she apologized, handing Joss his coffee.  
"No problem, Zayra. Tom explained everything. That man is an insurance claim waiting to happen, his mind's always somewhere else."  
Zayra smiled politely, then excused herself to get back to her other, numerous duties.  
"We have that in common, it seems." she thought to herself with a chuckle, and walked toward craft services.

After a few minutes, Zayra's recently acquired good friend, Helena, a makeup assistant, appeared to fix plates for the makeup crew and Tom.  
"Helly! I need a massive favor!" Zayra called to her.  
"Oh shit, what now Zayra? No, I cannot get you any nude pictures of anyone!" she teased.  
"You are the worst friend ever, Helly! I got your copy of 'Clerks 2' autographed when Kevin Smith and Jason Mewes spoke at my college!" Zayra teased back.  
"Ok, ok, so I owe you one. Who is it?" Helena asked with a laugh.  
"Put this on Tom's tray. He'll know who it's from." Zayra requested, handing Helena the delicately iced cookie.  
"You met Tom?! How?! How'd you find the time?"  
"I'll fill you in later, just do this for me, please?"  
"Ok, no biggie. I'll give him your cookie, weirdo."  
"You're the best, Helly!"  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Helena replied, walking away.

Zayra bit her lip nervously. Was that too weird? Would he find her gesture funny...or creepy? Hell, maybe he wouldn't even remember their exchange. He meets dozens of people a day, she may not have even made a blip on his radar. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut at that thought and hoped if Tom had forgotten her already, Helena would be smart enough to keep her mouth shut and not remind him. "Oh, you know, the ditzy broad who walked right in your way this morning, like a jackass."  
After a ten minute lunch, she proceeded to knock out the rest of the day's "Zayra do" list in hopes she might actually get to hit her pillow before sunrise tonight. Item number five was to make sure all the cloth portions of Loki's costume were in good condition and pressed for that evening's shot.

She hurried to wardrobe and pulled the costume down. This wasn't usually her job, but they were short a person, and so it by default became her job. That's showbiz for ya. Her fingers ran over every seam, every precisely tailored line of the fabric. For a fleeting moment, in her mind's eye, Tom was in the costume, and it wasn't slacks she was running her hands over, but his firm runner's legs. They weren't sleeves, but the covering of his thin but delicately muscled arms that stopped just short of his beautiful hands and long, elegant fingers. She felt a flush burn its way up from her chest and her neck, and she shook the images from her mind. She took to pressing the garment with the utmost care, making sure not a wrinkle remained. Satisfied with her work, she stretched to try to hang the costume back where it was, but her 5'6" frame made it difficult.

"So you're the one who took off with my clothes." she heard a deep, laughing voice say.  
"Huh?" she asked, eyes meeting Tom's, "Oh, yeah. Had to press it. You ready for it?"  
"Oh, always!" he joked, sly grin spreading across his face, "Oh, you mean my costume! Yes, I do think it's time I put it on. I have a scene in about fifteen minutes."  
Zayra laughed nervously, still struggling for the costume as Tom stood behind her, full Loki hair and makeup, reaching over her head, his height allowing him to pull it down easily.  
The nearness of him made her stop breathing for a moment, as if she were suddenly terrified of making any sound. She felt ridiculous for feeling that way. This movie was bursting with stunningly attractive actors, and as a PA she was like a bee, buzzing around them all the time, why was he so special?  
"It looks perfect! Good job, Zayra." Tom praised.  
"You...remembered my name. Uhm, yeah, no problem."  
Tom smiled sweetly.  
"I hate to impose, I know you're terribly busy, but I think wardrobe's in a meeting, or they fled in terror...but there's some bits of this that I can't fasten on my own. Have a few minutes to help me?"  
After a couple seconds, Zayra realized she'd stopped breathing again and coughed herself back to life.  
"Sure. Anything that needs doing is my forte." she replied.  
Tom smiled wickedly and placed his hands on his belt buckle.  
"Oh, sorry!" Zayra gasped, and turned around, squeezing her eyes shut.  
Tom laughed and proceeded to remove his clothing and to put on all the fabric parts of his costume.  
"Ok, I'm dressed now, you can turn around." he teased with a laugh.  
Zayra obliged him, and took right to helping him with the trickier pieces, lastly hoisting his helmet. Tom ducked down so she could place it carefully on his head.  
"I dub thee Loki Laufeyson!" Zayra decreed with a soft laugh.  
Tom laughed heartily, then regally kissed her hand.  
"Well, love, I hate to run, but they need me on set. Thank you for your help, it was much appreciated."  
"Anytime." Zayra said with a soft smile.  
Tom stopped in the doorway of the wardrobe trailer.  
"By the way, the cookie was a lovely gesture, but I think dinner would be far more appropriate. Are you tied up this evening?"  
Other than a long-awaited date with her bed and a couple of Xanax...  
"Nope. I should be wrapped about nine tonight."  
"Wonderful. Here's my number, text me the address to your place and I'll pick you up. I know a restaurant that's open late."  
"O...ok. Sure." Zayra muttered, taking his business card. Actors have business cards? Learn something new every day. She quickly texted him her details and went back to her work.

Zayra was like a woman possessed. She sped through every task like her ass was on fire, determined to finish everything by nine, come hell or high water. 8:59pm, she reported to the production office to make sure she was free for the night. They told her she was and she ran to her car with the little spare energy she had left.  
She arrived at her apartment, threw her purse down on her couch and headed for her room.  
He didn't say what kind of restaurant...what the fuck should she wear?

After having a miniature nervous breakdown, she sat at the edge of her bed. Was it too late to call it off? Tell him she has a twenty-four hour flu, or an eight hour flu...is there such a thing as an eight hour flu? Nah, she's a shitty liar. In her half open closet, she saw her old standby "little black dress", a shimmery number that hit her at just the right spot on her thighs. She figured it was dressy enough for a nice place, but not so much so it would look presumptuous. Whew.  
She quickly showered and slipped into the dress, pulling her hair back into a high ponytail, then stopped at her lingerie drawer. Panties or no panties? She shook her head. "Seriously? You get one hot guy's attention, and suddenly you're a whore. Fuck, Zayra!" she scolded herself, selecting a black silk thong and slipping it on. She figured it was a fair compromise. She had just slipped into a pair of black, patent leather stillettos when she heard a knock at her door.

_Cough_.

If she can't keep her breath from stopping every time he's within 500 miles of her, she's going to die.  
She clumsily fumbled for her purse on the couch, then stopped to take a good, deep, solid breath and try to look as easy-breezy and nonchalant as possible, like she did this sort of thing all the time. Not, you know, like she hadn't been on a date in over three years because she was married...to her education, and now to her career.  
She calmly opened her door.  
"Oh, hello!" she greeted Tom, "Seems you found the place ok."  
"Yes, I've been in Los Angeles a time or two." he teased with a soft grin.  
"Yes, of course. Ok, shall we?"  
Tom offered his arm like a proper gentleman and Zayra took it, relieved to have the extra support and cursing herself under her breath for wearing fucking stillettos she could hardly remember how to walk in. Oh well, Tom was nice and sturdy, and if she tumbled ass over tea-kettle, maybe he'd find it particularly charming. You know, because there's nothing an A-list movie star loves more than a woman who puts herself in traction to sport killer footwear.

Tom walked her to the front passenger side of some sleek, sporty car (fuck if she knew what it was, she drove a Corolla and was happy to have it) and opened her door for her. She thanked him softly, and took her seat. She admired how clean and nice his interior was. Drawing from her experience with men, this was either a rental, or he hardly ever drove.  
Tom slid into the driver's seat and Zayra took the time to give him a good, side-long glance. He wore his ever-present dark wash jeans, a white cotton dress shirt, a skinny, black, leather necktie, a sport coat and the same leather jacket he was wearing earlier in the day. He was so stylish, it was almost disgusting, and she eyed her own outfit selection and hoped silently that she measured up.  
Before she had too much time to mull it over (read: freak out as inconspicuously as possible), Tom spoke softly.  
"I love that dress. Who is it?" he asked.  
"Uhm, it's...I have no idea." she answered with a nervous laugh.  
"Ah. Not a label whore then, hmm?" he questioned with a halfway grin.  
"No, I see what I like and I wear it. I'm paying off student loans and working as a PA. The labels can see me coming a mile away, won't even let me in their stores." she said matter-of-factly.  
Tom laughed deep in his chest, and while under normal circumstances she would be offended, there was something kind and sincere about him that made her drop her guard.  
"Good, whatever you do, don't ever change. Every time I step foot on a red carpet, 'Who are you wearing, who are you wearing?'. You know what I'm wearing? Whatever my publicist thrusts at me an hour before I'm to arrive. I have no clue. Somebody says, 'Here, he should wear this!', I wear it, everybody's happy."  
Zayra laughed, covering her mouth self-consciously. Tom glanced at her, smiling so that the little lines at the corners of his eyes were especially prominent. Those lines one only earns from a lifetime of expressing joy.  
Then, silence. What on earth could they possibly have to talk about? She began to worry she was boring him, then he eased the tension.  
"So, what were you studying in school?"  
"Oh, uhm...a little of this, a little of that. Mostly creative writing with a focus on screenwriting."  
"Oh, you want to write movies, eh?"  
"Yeah, been pretty much a life-long dream."  
"Ugh, don't, it's horrendous. You write a movie, it's like having a baby, except strangers take this baby from you, lop off an arm or a leg, or both, and if you're lucky they ultimately give it back to you. If you're half-lucky they let the baby grow up to be a movie, but most of the time the baby just finds its way into the trash."  
"Ok then..." Zayra thought to herself, "That was just my greatest dream, no biggie."  
Tom seemed to read her mind, and laughed nervously.  
"I'm such an ass sometimes! I mean, you know, don't put everything into screenwriting. Do it because you love it, but don't depend on it for an income. Too much heartbreak. Branch out, there's so many jobs in film, surely there's something you can do for your bread and butter while you write your fabulous movies."  
"Like sling coffee?"  
Tom laughed loudly.  
"OR, I don't know...you seem to be good at a number of things. I'm sure you're more than capable of anything you set your hand to."  
"I'll take that under advisement." Zayra said with a mischevious grin.  
"Oh, don't listen to me, I don't know anything about anything half the time. But, I do know we have arrived. Hold on, I'm going to valet the car."

They pulled up to a restaurant Zayra had passed on nights out with Helena a number of times. Passed at warp speed because she could feel the place practically siphoning money out of her wallet as she passed by.  
Tom walked to her side of the car and offered an arm to help her out. They walked up to the maitre 'd.  
"Yes, reservation for two, under Hiddleston." Tom informed him.  
"Ah yes, right this way sir."  
They were led to a private table on a balcony overlooking the city. It was beautiful. The wind was soft, but uncharacteristically chilly for Los Angeles. Her skin was flushed with goosebumps. Tom slipped out of his leather jacket.  
"Here, love, you must be freezing!" he offered, standing to slip it over her shoulders.  
"Thank you. I was a little cold."  
Zayra picked up her menu. She learned a little French in college, but she couldn't make out what half the food was. She also noticed something else odd about the menu.  
"Uhm, there's no prices on this menu." she said curiously.  
"Because you don't want to know them." Tom answered with a grin.  
"Wow, ok, next time, I'm picking the place we eat, this is so not my scene." Zayra declared mindlessly.  
"Next time?" Tom teased, flashing his comforting grin.  
"You know what I mean, IF there is a next time." Zayra laughed nervously.  
The waitress arrived at their table.  
"Would you like to start with some wine?" she asked.  
"Wine?" Tom asked Zayra.  
She just kinda...shrugged. She wasn't exactly a "fancy wine" kinda girl. She was the kinda girl who had a half-drank box of Franzia in her fridge.  
"You know what, make it champagne. This is sort of a special occassion." Tom ordered.  
"Very good, sir. And have you decided what you would like to order?"  
Tom rattled off his order in well pronounced French tainted with his lovely, but wholly opposing English accent.  
Zayra wanted to die. What if she ordered the lamb with shoe sauce, or something?  
Tom smiled understandingly.  
He rattled off another order and turned to her.  
"You like your lamb rare?"  
"Uhm, sure. But, no shoe sauce."  
"What?"  
"Nevermind." she said with a blush.  
The two made small talk until the champagne arrived. The waitress popped the cork, and pour them each a glass and left to tend to other diners.  
"So, what exactly are we celebrating?" Zayra asked.  
"Your bright future." Tom offered with a smile.  
Zayra smiled appreciatively. "Cheers." she said, clinking her glass with his.  
The rest of the date went rather smoothly. They had more in common than she thought they would. They both came from great families, were close with their sisters, loved horseback riding. Although he came more from the "fox and hound" set, and she had grown up on a cattle ranch chasing stray cows on the back of a horse at breakneck speed. Tom told her stories from filming "Thor" about pranks played and behind-the-scenes secrets most people didn't know. At times, she laughed so hard her sides ached. Tom was a brilliant story-teller. He'd bait you and bait you then, BOOM, hit you in the gut with the punchline. Before they knew it, the staff was turning the lights down, the universal sign for "We're trying to close up, people!"

Tom walked her to his car, opening her door again, and they were both tired from the day and didn't say much on the drive back to Zayra's apartment.  
They arrived, and Tom walked her to her door.  
"Well, this is me." Zayra said trying to fill the space between them with something.  
"I had a lovely time." Tom said with a warm, sincere smile.  
"Would you like to come up for a cup of coffee...or tea?" Zayra invited, rather innocently.  
Tom smiled.  
"I don't think that's a good idea. My girlfriend might not approve." he said with a laugh.  
"Girlfriend, right...you have a girlfriend. Of course you have a girlfriend. And, you're my co-worker and that sounded like a come-on, didn't it? Wow, ok, I'm going to go home now and check my oven for a gas leak, you have a nice night, Tom." Zayra said, dying from shame. She really meant nothing by her offer. Right? No, she didn't. Did she?  
Tom laughed in his mischievous way.  
"What is so funny?" Zayra asked, now totally confused.  
"See, about that girlfriend. There was a little...hiccup. See, I HAD a girlfriend as of, oh...three or four days ago, but it's a funny thing. You tell your significant other you're going to be in a big, blockbuster film and they should be completely happy for you, but she...Uhm, she thought she was dating King Lear or Hamlet, not, you know, 'Loki from those ridiculous comic books!'. Oh well, can't please everyone."  
"Tom Hiddleston, you're an asshole!" Zayra laughed, slipping off her shoes and throwing one at him.  
He laughed heartily.  
"I couldn't help it, the look on your face! You thought you had offended me so, offering me a coffee!" he gripped his stomach from his raucous laughter.  
"Forget the coffee now, you're not getting any! I don't even like you now, so just get in your fancy car and go home." she teased him, retrieving her shoe and making her way to her apartment.  
"Ok then, fair's fair. No coffee!" Tom replied, following after her, turning her to face him, pressing her back against the door. In one smooth motion, he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply, and Zayra melted against him, relishing his kiss, intoxicated by his cologne.  
Tom pulled away finally, staring into her eyes, scanning them for any sign of invitation.  
"So, uhm...does that mean...you're coming in?" Zayra asked nervously.  
"Absolutely." Tom answered, sending Zayra fumbling for her keys, fussing with the lock until it finally gave, offering them entry.

Tom wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her neck as they made their way to her bedroom, and she tossed her shoes and purse on the couch.  
As soon as they arrived, he had her dress up and over her head. She ripped off his tie and cast it to the floor. Soon his sport coat and dress shirt followed. His body was perfect. She wasn't one for brawny, meathead guys. He was perfectly lithe, every muscle contracting with each hungry breath. He pulled her close and the warmth of his skin made her tremble longingly. How long had it been? Three, four years since she was held this way? Could she even remember?  
She felt his hands snake their way over her hips and slide her thong to the floor. She kicked it away as coolly as she could manage. She gripped his belt buckle with her hands, waiting for the go ahead like he didn't just take off all of her clothes. Tom smiled invitingly and she quickly undid the buckle, unbuttoned the fly, pulled down the zipper, and slid a hand over his black cotton boxer briefs. She heard him softly sigh and she was liquid. She caressed him over his underwear and kissed him, nipping and pulling softly at his bottom lip. He laughed gently, and took her hand, putting it inside his underwear. She felt his growing hardness and felt like she could die. She felt like she was outside her body, watching the proceedings as she cast off his underwear and pulled him to the bed, pulled him down on top of her. He kissed his way across her clavicle, then down to her breasts, where he sucked, licked and gently nibbled at her nipples, pleased with the moan he drew from her ivory throat. He kissed his way down her abdomen, and around her navel two, three times, driving her mad with wantoness. He threw her legs over his shoulders and she instantly began to tremble. Tom loved it, how she reacted to his every touch. He began to place soft kisses on the lips of her pussy, and her hips rose from the bed, urging him further. He grinned devilishly as he licked softly at first, just above her clit, in small circles sending her gasping. When he was certain he'd tortured her enough, he slid his tongue in further, flicking it rapidly like a butterfly's wings right at the head of her clit, drawing it from its hood. She began to shake from his efforts, and moan, so he applied firmer pressure, using the flat of his tongue and moving in random motions. Zayra gripped his curls and grinded against his face, not entirely aware of what she was doing, just aching for more contact. She began to call out his name and he knew she was ready. He kissed his way back up her body, then to her lips. She could taste herself there, and it drove her insane. She pushed him down onto the bed, on his back and kissed her way down his gorgeous torso. She had no intention of torturing him, because to do so would torture her more. She reached his beautiful, uncut cock and took as much of it into her mouth as she could, stroking the remaining length of shaft with one hand, and caressing his balls with the other. Tom threw his head back and called out, overwhelmed by her efforts, the force with which she sucked him. She was so eager, so determined to please him and he felt it with every caress of her tongue over his sensitive head. He stopped her for fear he'd lose control far too quickly. He pulled her up on top of him, and guided her to where she was on top, in control. She guided him inside of her and slid down, taking time to adjust to his size. Once she was fully penetrated, she began slowly, then quickly sped up her pace, moaning and speaking unintelligibly, lost in the delight of him. He pulled her down so he could kiss her, thrusting his hips upward forcefully, sending her crying out against his lips. He gripped her ass for more leverage, and kept up a steady pace. He slid two fingers into her mouth and she licked them lustfully. He slipped his hand around so he could rub her clit while he fucked her hard and fast. She began to sob and whimper, and he could feel from the contraction of her muscles inside she was so very close. He placed his lips by her ear, and whispered seductively, "Come for me, love...come for me...I want you to come so hard, you feel as if I've turned you inside out." That was all it took. It felt like every nerve fiber in her body exploded with electricity all at once, and that it all coursed toward her cunt and she shouted his name to the heavens. She slowed for a moment, then returned to the frantic pace, determined to make him feel as amazing as he made her feel. She moved her hips in circles and figure 8's and before long she felt his cock jerk hard, then he sprayed inside of her like a shotgun blast, screaming in rapture, then gasping for breath, his curls drooping from the sweat of his efforts.

They collapsed together on the bed and Zayra tried, and failed to speak. Tom laughed softly.  
"Are you alive, love?" he said with a tired grin.  
"Nope, I'm dead. You killed me." Zayra teased, burying her face in his chest.  
"Oh no! Well, gotta bury you, come on." Tom joked, rising up a little.  
"Bury me tomorrow, I'm so tired."  
Tom laughed deeply.  
Zayra looked into the darkness as the weight of what just happened hit her fully. What...exactly DID just happen? What was...THIS? Forget handshake etiquette, what was the etiquette for this sort of thing? Did Miss Manners ever write about potential one night stands with co-workers who also happen to be movie stars? Where's that book?  
Tom, who was just a little too good at sensing her thoughts smiled knowingly.  
"So, do I need to go or am I an overnight guest?" he asked sweetly.  
Zayra smiled broadly.  
"You're so comfy. You stay."  
Tom chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead.  
"Agreed. But, tomorrow we take our separate cars to the set."  
Zayra nodded understandingly.  
"Oh yeah, I figured. Don't want to arouse suspicion."  
"No, you're not spilling ten coffees in my car." he replied with a grin.  
"Go the fuck to sleep, silly man."  
Tom brushed back her bangs and settled down to lay beside her.  
He wasn't sure what they were, yet, but he knew she was one of the most genuine, authentic people he'd met recently, and he was kind of intrigued to see where things might lead.  
With that thought on his mind, he drifted off into blissful, satisfied sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Tom fic I ever wrote, and it was the first fanfic I'd written in 6-7 years, so needless to say I was a wee bit rusty. I still really enjoy it, though. Gotta love falling in love. <3


End file.
